


figured out what we're missing

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 10:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please, Arthur," Eames whispers, just barely touching him in the dark. "Please come back."</p><p>"I'm dreaming," Arthur says. "I am."</p><p>"You're <i>not</i>," Eames says, and it sounds wrenched out of him, sounds raw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	figured out what we're missing

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from The National's "Conversation 16"

"Darling," Eames says. "_Arthur_. Look at me. You have to look at me."

Arthur's hands are shaking on the gun, but he manages to lift it to his own head, watch Eames start forward as he pulls the trigger and—

*

"Don't you think we could be dreaming?" Arthur asks. "I mean. This isn't real, Dom. Look at this. You created this."

They're outside, in Dom's backyard, every detail almost perfect. Phillipa and James are years older, and Mal isn't there. Mal's where she belongs.

Dom looks at him. "Get out," he says.

"Listen to me," Arthur says.

"No," Dom says. "Get out."

*

Arthur rolls the die, and it comes up to five every time, but that feels wrong, that doesn't feel like the truth.

*

"Please, Arthur," Eames whispers, just barely touching him in the dark. "Please come back."

"I'm dreaming," Arthur says. "I am."

"You're _not_," Eames says, and it sounds wrenched out of him, sounds raw.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispers, but he can't take it back.

*

He opens the door to his apartment to a small, pretty girl, and she wraps his arms around him when she sees him. He stiffens, immediately, unsure.

She pulls back. "It's Ariadne," she says, quiet.

"Nice to meet you," Arthur says stiffly, and she looks like she's going to cry.

*

"Where's Mal?" he asks when he sees Dom, and Dom closes his eyes and doesn't say anything.

*

Eames is moving above him, all shadowed skin that he wants to touch, that he can touch, Eames' back flexing beneath his fingers as he digs them into his skin, as he holds on.

"You're fucking beautiful," Eames mumbles into his neck, and Arthur thinks _no, you_.

He tries not to feel like an imposter.

*

Weeks fade into one another, and Arthur's not sure what's real or not, only that he likes this place, this imagined place, with Eames under his fingers and the taste of Eames on his tongue.

"I was thinking we could take a job with the gang," Eames says over breakfast, the newspaper in front of his face. "If you're up to it."

"What gang?" Arthur asks.

Eames folds the newspaper down and looks at him.

"Never mind," he says, sounding tired. "Just. Never mind."

*

Arthur wakes up, and Eames is in bed beside him. It doesn't make sense, none of it makes sense. He sits up, and Eames shifts sleepily beside him, wraps an arm around his waist.

"Morning," he mumbles, then, when Arthur doesn't move, he opens his eyes, sits up.

"Arthur?" he asks, quiet.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, and Eames gets out of bed.

"Sometimes I don't know," he says, back to Arthur, and leaves the room.

Arthur stays in bed, immobile, as he hears Eames in the bathroom, first "Goddamnit," then "_Goddamnit_," then the dull smack of fist meeting tile.

*

It looks like Arthur's apartment, but different. It's Arthur's apartment, but wrong in the details, with things he doesn't own stacked in among the things he remembers from home.

"Losing your touch, Dom," he mutters, but he's wrong about that, wrong, because when he goes into the bedroom he sees himself, a few years older, maybe, asleep, wrapped around Eames.

He hasn't seen Eames since before Dom fell into dreaming, and he never liked him much anyway.

"And apparently you think I have no taste," Arthur says under his breath, and puts a pillow over his own sleeping face.

*

"It's going to be dangerous," she told him. "He's mad. He's mad, and I can't leave them to find him again."

"I understand," he said.

"You don't have to do this," she said. "You could lose yourself just like he did."

Arthur didn't think that was much of a worry, considering there was nothing to hold him there, and he was tired of watching Dom in sleep, tired of watching Phillipa and James so quiet and sad.

"Don't leave me too," she said, and he promised.

*

This isn't real, he tells himself, over and over, and he watches Eames sleep beside him, at peace and oblivious. He touches his fingers to Eames' cheek. His throat feels tight.

This isn't real, but he's increasingly forgetting what is.

*

"This isn't real," Arthur says. "This isn't. You're not real." His hands are shaking on the gun pointed at Eames' heart.

"Darling," Eames says. "_Arthur_. Look at me. You have to look at me."

Arthur's hands are shaking on the gun, but he manages to lift it to his own head, watch Eames start forward as he pulls the trigger and— he wakes up gasping, eyes flying open. The ceiling is white. The ceiling is white and he feels someone beside him.

"I was wondering if you were coming back," Mal says quietly. "Is Dom coming?"

It takes a minute, takes a minute to pull everything back into place. "No," he manages.

The ceiling's so goddamned white.

It all slides back into place, everything. He closes his eyes again.

"I fucked up," he whispers, and he doesn't know if she can hear him, but it doesn't matter either way.


End file.
